


Skating at Midnight

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, Drarry, M/M, Skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:00:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 16,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry blamed it entirely on the Marauder's Map. He had just been curious, really. He never meant to find Malfoy, skating, in the middle of the night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure what happened here, I just started writing and this came out.

Draco sucked in a deep shuddering breath in an effort to regain his senses. He shook off the disorienting tumble of colors and terror, swiping angrily at the tear tracks running down his face. Thoughts and feelings were spiraling towards him, fighting for prominence in his already overcrowded brain, and he knew there had to be some way to stop the barrage.  
****

But he didn’t know how.

He couldn't settle his racing heart or his disgraceful trembling hands. Even when he screwed up his eyes tight against the darkness, the tears leaked out from under his eyelids and left hot streaks running down his face. He couldn't stop the tidal wave of memories. All he could do was taste the coppery tang of blood and breathe in the harsh smoke surrounding him.

It had been like this ever since he returned to Hogwarts. As soon as he got into bed, the nightmares would take over, creating their own world for him to live in.

The daylight was what made it okay. When the sun rose everything felt softer, more diffused. As long as he avoided everyone during the day, he didn't have to deal with the hostile stares boring holes into his back. It was easy enough to ignore the whispers and mutters and jeers that followed him as he walked to class with his head down, and he was getting very good at pretending not to feel the muttered stinging jinxes aimed at his back.

He didn’t blame them.

Inevitably, though, the daytime would fade into night - and for some reason, it was as if the dark drove all rational thoughts and solutions from his mind. Not even dreamless sleep could forestall the inevitable visions of fire that seared themselves into his eyelids, lasting long after he woke up. No number of potions or spells could get rid of the screams, the acrid smell, the salty taste of tears, the sticky blood he could feel dripping through his fingers, the waves and waves of pain washing over him.

_Fuck._ Thinking about this wasn't helping.

With a shaky gasp, Draco threw back the sheet that he had become entangled with, trying to smooth back his matted hair that was now soaked with sweat. It made him cringe slightly, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment to feel the rivulets across his brow. _He was a Malfoy. He should be in control._

He did the only thing he knew how to do. His shoes were already waiting by his bed, arranged carefully so that he could step right into them from his bed. He slipped out of the stifling dungeons and up towards the front doors. It was a path he knew well.

A breeze of frigid air washed over him as he ventured outside, chilling and calming him at the same time. Somehow, it provided an immediate relief, draining the tension from his stance as he took in the moonlit grounds and crisp white snow that lay before him.

Being outside during the night was like stepping into a whole different world. This was a world that could be _his._ He wasn't hated here. He didn't hate _himself_ here.

Nothing that he had done before actually mattered among the snow and darkness.

It was almost possible to pretend that he had never been a death eater. Alone as he carefully made his way towards the lake, he seemed to be the only person left in the world. He had come this way many times, and would have been able to find his way even without the moonlight guiding him.

The frosty air stung his chest as he sat down at the edge of the ice covered expanse, reveling in how alive he felt. As he reached for his wand, the fear he had felt earlier seemed so distant. None of that mattered.

_“Glaciescultro,"_ he whispered under his breath, his voice sounding impossibly loud against the muffled night. The blanket of snow silenced everything but him. His shoes transformed, and he let out a breath at the familiar sensation that they had turned to liquid metal, molding themselves around his feet.

He stood up carefully, pushing away from the powdery earth. Mesmerizing white puffs swirled around him, tiny clouds of breath that hung in the frozen night sky. He took little, practiced steps, his bladed feet slicing perfect hash marks into the untouched snow.

With his first step onto the ice, everything else in the world melted away from him. Even the grounds disappeared from his view. Now all his focus was on the lake. It was just him and the ice, working together in perfect undeniable synchrony.

The winter wind was biting at him, trying to beat him down as it whipped furiously against him, but he didn't _care._ He pushed back against it, gliding and twirling over the ice, pure unbridled joy leaping through him as he spun around through the darkness. He could feel giddy laughter building up inside him, his unfathomable happiness threatening to pour out for the world to see.

Out here, he felt powerful. He could control it all; the way the ice seemed to yield to him as he cut across the lake, building up speed, twisting perfectly to avoid every imperfection and blemish on the surface.

Out here, he was free.

 

* * *

 

Harry couldn't sleep either.

He wasn't sure why, exactly. It wasn't that something in particular was bothering him - no, he just couldn't seem to get comfortable. No matter how much he tossed and turned, his pillow was lumpy in all the wrong places, and his mattress seemed intent on fighting back against him.

With a frustrated sigh, Harry sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. He reached absentmindedly for his wand, muttering a careless _lumos,_ and then leaning back against the red and gold hangings of his bed.

He was restless. He needed to do something _,_ and apparently, that something was not sleeping.

Instinctively, he looked to his trunk as if it held all the answers, eyes trailing forlornly over school textbooks and unfinished homework. Well, he wasn't _that_ desperate for something to do. In his aimless scanning, a piece of parchment caught his eye.

He reached down, fingers stretching towards it, trying to reach it without falling out of his bed. Belatedly he realized he could’ve just done a summoning charm, but then his fingers found what they had been seeking, and he pulled the innocent looking paper towards him.

He touched his wand gently to the center, murmuring the words that were already waiting on the tip of his tongue. “ _I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good."_

He scanned the map that was budding from where his wand had touched the paper, the familiarity of all this making him smile. The map had completely slipped his mind until he'd seen it tucked away in the corner of his trunk.

It was one in the morning, and most of the castle was sound asleep, their stationary black dots bathed in the electric blue light from his wand. He could see Filch pacing a deserted upstairs corridor, doubtless trying to catch some poor first year.

But Filch wasn't the only one moving. Another figure drew Harry's attention, slowly making their way towards the front door. Harry squinted, bringing the map closer to his face, trying to read the minisculely penned label.

_Draco Malfoy._

Harry stared at it for a second, his senses automatically heightened and on alert. What on earth was Malfoy doing in the corridors at one in the morning?

His first instinct was to assume that Malfoy was up to something again. Hermione’s exasperated voice rang in the back of mind, and after a moment, he realized it just didn't fit. When he tried to reconcile the new Malfoy with some evil plot, he couldn't seem to do it.

The new Malfoy had apologized to him, the first day of their term. To all of them - Hermione, Ron, Hagrid, McGonagall, everyone. He had sought them all out privately and apologized.

Harry still remembered it vividly. How could he forget it? Malfoy had been so eerily calmly and composedly when he asked if he could have a word. _Sorry._ That was the only thing he had been able to get out before he had quietly left the room. Harry hadn’t even gotten the chance to respond, and he had been left standing there, dumbfounded.

In fact, that was the only thing Harry had heard him say the entire year. After that, he had seemed to retreat within himself, not talking to anybody. He wore an impeccable mask, his face smooth and unyielding, giving nothing away. Anytime a question was thrust upon him, he tried to get away with a crisp nod or shake of his head.

Harry didn't know how to act around him anymore. It was too confusing, getting quiet nods of acknowledgement instead of sneers and taunts. So instead of trying to figure out how to react, he had just respected the distance Malfoy put between himself and the rest of the world.

It had almost been easier to just let Malfoy go his own way, and not have to work through his confusion and their lurking enmity. This way, they just didn't interact.

Despite their seeming agreement to avoid each other, it made absolutely no sense why Malfoy was walking towards the lake in the middle of the night. Harry’s exhaustion was a little voice in the back of his head, whispering that the obvious solution was to go investigate.

So of course, having nothing better to do, he quietly swung his legs out of bed.


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe it was because he was so tired, or maybe it was his curiosity, but for whatever reason, Harry had absolutely no misgivings about following Malfoy in the middle of the night. He was careful not to wake anybody up as he crept out of their common room and down the stairs, ignoring the portraits' indignant mutters.

Holding the Marauder’s Map outstretched before him, he carefully navigated the deserted corridors and kept one eye on Malfoy the whole time. When he reached the front of the castle, he halted, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

The dot labeled Malfoy was _on top of the lake._

Harry blinked hard, sure he must be seeing something wrong. Was Malfoy swimming? In the middle of winter? Did Malfoy even know _how_ to swim?

He stared at the map for a second, wondering if there could be a mistake. Surely Malfoy would freeze to death if he went swimming, wouldn't he?

He shook his head in disbelief before wrenching open the castle door. Maybe Malfoy had found a way to trick the map, or maybe there was a flaw. A torrent of snow and cold greeted him, making him clutch his inadequate threadbare robe around him. _Malfoy was definitely insane._

The silvery light pouring down from above lit up the landscape - white snow, black sky, soft grey shadows. It gave the grounds an almost ethereal look, and even Harry had to admit that it was beautiful.

Trying to make out the lake from where he was standing proved to be impossible, so he took a hesitant step outside, bracing himself against the winter. He squinted at the ground, his eyes alighting upon a set of footsteps that must have been Malfoy's.

He serenaded his own genius as he was careful only to step in Malfoy's footprints, just in case Malfoy saw that someone had been following. It struck Harry how long it had been since he had just taken a walk around the grounds, or since he had been to see the lake - sometimes he forgot how beautiful Hogwarts was.

As he neared the water, he stared at the map in confusion. Not only was Malfoy on top of the lake, but he was moving a lot faster than Harry was used to seeing. There was no way he could swim that fast, was there? Harry furrowed his eyebrows momentarily.

Finally, when he reached the edge of the lake, everything started to click in the place.

First was the way Malfoy's footprints transformed suddenly into harsh slashes in the snow. Then there was the fact that the lake was completely frozen over, covered with a layer of pristine ice, marred only by a few lines leading away from the edge right where Malfoy's footprints ended.

And then he saw Malfoy.

He immediately knew it was Malfoy by the way the moonlight glinted off his hair, illuminating his entire figure.

Against his better judgement, Harry was completely and utterly entranced.

Malfoy was skating. No, not just _skating._ He was gliding seamlessly over the ice, seeming to merely skim the surface, unhindered by the slippery sheet beneath him. Harry watched in awe as he twirled and leaped, his tall, lithe figure bending and twisting with such perfect ease, elegantly flowing across the ice.

It was like he was dancing to himself, his arms outstretched carelessly against the wind, and then spinning and bringing his arms together above him.

He was just _skating,_ as if he didn't give a fuck what anybody thought about him.

It seemed so effortless and free, impossibly fast and perfect. He moved with a grace and raw power unrivaled by anything Harry had ever seen.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away.

If he had been confused about Malfoy before, this was something altogether different. The way Malfoy moved, as if he didn't have a care in the world, as if the ice belonged to him. It was such a stark contrast to the quiet, composed Malfoy that dominated the daylight. The one that never talked to anybody, the one who was reserved in his movements.

It made Harry wonder.

He couldn't say how long he stood there on the edge of the lake, fingers and toes growing colder to the point where they were painful, just watching.

He stayed as the snow began to fall, soft white flakes drifting slowly down to the earth, layering a thin film of bright white everywhere, in perfect union with Malfoy's hair. He stood there, cloaked in the shadows. It felt like he was intruding on something private, this unrehearsed dance of Malfoy and the ice.

As Malfoy began to slow, his fluid movements starting to taper off, Harry quickly slipped away. He walked back to the castle, glancing over his shoulder as he went, making sure Malfoy didn't see him.

Long after Harry had traipsed back to the castle, he was followed by the image of Malfoy, head thrown back and arms circled in front of him as he whirled around in a flawless pirouette.

 

* * *

 

Harry probably should have known that it wouldn’t end well. After years of fixating on Malfoy, he shouldn’t have convinced himself that he would just be able to forget about it.

The next night, when Ron's snores finally filled the air and Harry was sure everybody was asleep, he almost followed suit. He _almost_ went to sleep too, and forgot about Malfoy.

He would have, (or so he told himself), if it weren't for the almost magnetic pull of the map sitting on his night table. The lure of just taking a look was too great.

With a few whispered words, the spidery black lines of the map blossomed before him. This time, the lake was empty, devoid of the small scrawl that signified Malfoy's presence. He was back in the dungeons, an unmoving splash of ink alongside Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.

Harry let out a breath. Whether from relief or disappointment, he wasn't sure.

He almost went to sleep then, putting the map aside and sinking into his pillow.

There was a thought niggling at the back of his mind kept him from doing that, though. The thought that maybe, Malfoy was waiting for people to fall asleep too. Harry briefly wondered why he so badly wanted to see Malfoy skating again, but explained it away. He was just trying to understand Malfoy, that was all.

Half an hour later, his patience was rewarded. His eyes had just started to flutter closed, the map slipping slightly from his grasp, when the name moved. Harry jerked upright, suddenly attentive. Sure enough, Malfoy was on the move, tracing the same path he had yesterday. Towards the lake.

And once again, Harry followed.

Careful to step only in Malfoy's footprints once more, he settled himself on the ground by the lake, shrouded in darkness. This time he was smart enough to cast a warming charm around himself, permeating the chilling atmosphere. He sat there and watched, reveling in Malfoy’s talent.

Until Malfoy fell.

It was sudden, harsh, and somehow quieter than Harry had expected. Malfoy had been spinning around, one of his legs drawn in close, when he stumbled and crashed to the ice.

Harry instinctively jumped to his feet before realizing that he was supposed to be hiding, and crouching back down hurriedly. A wave of shock passed over him as he saw Malfoy sprawled on the ground. Somewhere in between the moments getting lost in the whirling motion, he had forgotten that Malfoy was a person. A real person, who made mistakes and fell on the ice.

Malfoy grimaced slightly as he got back to his feet, but otherwise he seemed fine.

It was a strange moment as he watched Malfoy fall back into his rhythm, and Harry realized that he must fall all the time. It made him remember that he was sitting in the snow at midnight watching somebody skate.

It made him remember that this wasn’t a dream, and that really, all of this was quite real.

Only when Malfoy’s pace began to slow did Harry leave, stealing away back to the castle.

 

* * *

 

And no matter how much Harry promised to himself that it would be the last time, he couldn’t seem to keep himself a way. Every night now, he would quietly pull out the map, his invisibility cloak added to the repertoire of Malfoy-watching items. Malfoy never noticed him.

Not until a week later.

It had been an especially cold night on Friday when Malfoy finally stepped off the ice, his face flushed from the chill, exhausted and covered in snow. Despite the burning in his muscles and his breath coming fast, his mind felt empty and clean.

He sat down overlooking the marked up lake. Wincing at the inevitable blisters forming on his feet, he quickly transformed the skates back into shoes, standing up with a sigh. He had to at least _try_ sleeping.

While he was slowly trekking back to the castle, something strange registered in his mind.

There were two sets of footprints leading back to the castle.

_What on earth...?_

He crouched down in the snow, ignoring the fact that his socks were slowly soaking through. The set of prints that was from him walking to the lake was strangely distorted. It was as if somebody had walked inside them to disguise the fact that they had been there.

Evidently, they had forgotten to do the same thing on the way back to the castle, because there was a distinct set of indentations in the snow, looking like somebody had been in a hurry to get away. They looked new, not yet covered by the snow that was still falling steadily.

Malfoy felt the familiar sensation of panic building up inside his chest, and he sucked in deep breaths to calm himself, trying to focus instead on the snow.

Someone had followed him. Someone had seen him.

He felt bile rising in his throat, and tried to push back the tears that seemed insistent on springing forth. His mind was racing a mile a minute, replaying random moments over and over, trying to remember what they might have seen. He closed his eyes tight, furious at the prickling sensation and the single tear he could feel making its way down his cheek. His fists clenched impulsively, fingernails digging into his tingling cold hands. 

_Fucking pull yourself together,_ he berated himself, trying not to think about the fact that somebody had been watching him skating.

 _They might tell everybody,_ his thoughts screamed desperately as he imagined what would happen if people found out. That couldn't happen. _Nobody_ could know. This was the one thing he had where he could be himself.

He couldn't fucking lose that too.


	3. Chapter 3

These days, when Harry walked blearily into the Great Hall alongside Ron and Hermione, his eyes immediately found their way to Malfoy.

Of course, it was like nothing had changed. He was still sitting at the end of the Slytherin table, far away from anybody else. His head was bowed as if in deference, and he was just looking down at an empty plate. Like always.

Harry slid into the Gryffindor table where Ginny was in a heated debate with Seamus Finnigan about some new Quidditch regulation. She smiled at him momentarily as he sat down, but then turned her attention back to Seamus.

After the war, they had dated for a couple weeks before mutually agreeing they were better off as friends. It wasn't that anything had happened, per se. In fact, the lack of anything happening was the reason they had split up. Somewhere along the way, the spark had died out, and neither of them felt the attraction that had been so strong before everything.

As Ron rambled on about their potion's assignment, Harry couldn't help himself. He looked back over at Malfoy.

All the was visible of him was the top of his head, his shock of alabaster hair reminding Harry of the way it shone in the moonlight. Looking at Malfoy bent over his plate, Harry couldn't get the vision out of his head - the picture of Malfoy so graceful and free on the ice. All he could see was the beautiful contradicting dance of delicacy and strength, his confident flourishes and arcs.

It felt as if he knew something more about Malfoy. Something secret.

Harry held back a yawn, and Hermione looked at him worriedly.

“What?" he asked, catching her stare.

“You’ve just been looking really tired," she said, eyes narrowing slightly. “How late were you up?"

“Not that late!" he insisted. He was determined to assuage her concern. “I was just working on potions."

“Oh, really?" Hermione said, brightening up. “Good for you!"

Ron just snorted and rolled his eyes at Harry. “If by potions you mean studying quidditch strategy, then I’ll believe you.” Harry just grinned and ignored Hermione's noise of protest.

Then he looked back at Malfoy. As if Malfoy had sensed somebody watching him, his head lifted up slowly, and his eyes locked onto Harry's.

There were visible black circles under eyes, deep rings that stood out shockingly against his pale skin. Harry wasn't sure, but he thought he could see a tinge of pink, like Malfoy had been crying. But none of this distracted Harry from realizing that Malfoy's eyes were grey.

Somehow, even after all the years of fighting Malfoy, he had never noticed that.

Malfoy’s eyes held some undecipherable emotion, and it bugged him. He could recognize hatred, derision, or anger. But whatever this was seemed to escape him. It was impossibly hard to understand Malfoy. He didn't look sad, exactly. His eyes flitted away, and Harry ate breakfast slowly, thoughtfully chewing on a piece of toast.

He wasn't even sure why Malfoy was frustrating him so much, but he was. He was alone, and yet he didn't look sad. His manner was perfectly even and not forthcoming, and yet when he had seen Malfoy last night it had been the exact opposite. He had fought against and taunted people for the last seven years, and yet now he apologized and hadn't said a word.

Harry had hated him, and yet now he didn't know how to feel.

Malfoy was like a living contradiction.

Harry was determined to figure it out.

 

* * *

 

When Malfoy came down to breakfast the next day, anxiety was gnawing away at his insides. Thankfully, every day he had come down to find things the same as usual. No extra stares lingering on him, no whispered voices.

Apparently, whoever had been watching him had deigned to keep it a secret.

He wasn't even sure why he had been so worked up about somebody finding out. It just felt to him like he had been stolen away from himself. If everybody found out, he wouldn't be able to hide behind the safe facade of just being _Malfoy,_ the hated death eater.

He didn't want people to see this other side of him. He had already given up the rest of his identity when he joined Voldemort. This piece of himself had to stay with him, not the rest of the world.

Thankfully, impossibly, the mutters and hisses were no worse than usual.

Except for one person.

Potter was staring at him.

He had sensed somebody's eyes on him even before he looked up, but when he saw that the pair of eyes belonged to Potter, it sent a jolt through him. There were too many unspoken words hanging between them, an oppressive tension of uncertainty.

Ever since he had apologized to Potter, they had stayed away from each other. He had made it known that he regretted his actions. Potter had no reason to forgive him after everything he had done.

It was as simple as that, and yet so much more complicated.

Whatever it was, Malfoy didn't want to push it. He didn't want to force Potter to accept his apology out of obligation. He most definitely didn't want to be treated as a charity case. Their tense silence and acceptance of the other's presence seemed to suffice. That way, there was no conflict. No problems. No forced acquaintance. No hatred and underlying emotions. They were just living in separate worlds.

Until Potter unknowingly broke that unspoken barrier by bloody staring at him. Even when Malfoy met his eyes, he didn’t flinch. He just looked back, unblinkingly matching his gaze.

It was a curious stare, as if Potter was scrutinizing him, trying to figure him out. It made Malfoy's skin prickle, like somebody was staring right through him. It felt like Potter had laid his soul bare for the world to see with a simple look. Potter had been staring at him far too much recently.

The problem was, Malfoy couldn't help but notice how especially tired Potter looked. When he picked up his fork, Malfoy noticed that Potter's fingers looked red and sore, as if they had been in the cold for just slightly too long.

There was no way. There was _no_ way.

Was there?

 

* * *

 

His suspicions about Potter occupied his mind for the rest of the day, nagging at him every time he felt a gaze on his back. There was something about the intense _curiosity_ in his stare that made Malfoy believe that maybe, just maybe, it had been him.

He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It just posed an ever-present question, pushing at him throughout the day. _Would he go back?_

Somehow, despite Malfoy’s dismay that he had been seen, he was curious too. Curious enough to return to the lake that night. And he was watching, this time. He noticed when a patch of shadow broke away from the rest, a figure concealed by darkness.

It didn't escape his notice that all the footprints he left were stepped in and carefully matched. It also didn't escape his notice that Potter seemed especially tired the next morning. Or that his eyes kept flicking over to where Malfoy was sitting. And it didn’t escape his notice that for some reason, Potter hadn't told anybody about it.

He should have been far more upset by the fact the Potter was spying on him.

For some unfathomable reason, he wasn't.


	4. Chapter 4

They fell into a strange kind of established routine. Draco continued to go skating every night now, curious if Potter would continue to show up.

He did.

He would appear just after Draco stepped onto the ice, and leave just before he stepped off, and he seemed to have no idea that Draco was aware of his presence. Potter somehow thought that his careful steps inside Draco's footprints and lurking in the shadows provided him with a flawless cover.

Even though Draco never saw his face, he knew it was Potter. He could just tell. Draco had no idea why he continued to skate, even with Potter watching him, and he had no idea why Potter kept watching him late into the nights, even with the flurry of cold and dark.

And yet, they both did exactly that.

Draco still wasn't sure what to make of it, so finally, after a couple of weeks of their peculiar little dance, he decided to confront Potter.

It started out just like all of the other nights. Draco transfigured his shoes into skates and stepped out onto the ice in a blur of color and movement. He saw out of the corner of his eye as a shadow snuck to the usual spot and sat down, settling against the backdrop of darkness.

Draco just skated for a while, trying to work up the nerve to talk to him. Slowly, he started skating in circles, looping around, closer to the edge each time. He saw the shadow that gave away Potter's presence shift slightly every time he got closer. Usually he stayed out near the middle of the lake, but this time he kept approaching Potter, skating right by him as he huddled into his hiding spot.

At long last, he came sliding to a halt on the edge of the ice, his skates kicking up a shower of snow and shaved ice. He stood there for a second, heart pounding slightly too fast as he tried to catch his breath. His gaze was fixated on the spot where he knew Potter had to be sitting.

Finally, he spoke.

“Are you just going to keep sitting there and watching me, or are you going to come skate?"

 

* * *

  

Harry froze, his entire body tense and still as Malfoy's soft voice rang out across the quiet landscape.

_Fuck._

He didn't say anything, didn't move at all, as if that could make Malfoy unsee him.

“I know you're there, Potter," came the voice again, slightly amused this time, if a bit unsure. “You don't have to keep hiding."

Still, Harry didn't move. He wasn't even sure what he would say if his brain was functioning properly. _Hello, I’ve been watching you from the shadows for a few weeks._

No, that wouldn't do. He had half a mind to get up and run away and pretend this had never happened.

“Oh, for Merlin's sake," Malfoy huffed, stepping primly off the ice and on to the snowy ground, the powdery surface enveloping his skates. He walked quietly over to where Harry was sitting and sat down next to him, pulling his knees up to his chest with a little shiver.

“How did you know I was here?" Harry asked. Like _that_ was the most important thing right now.

“I saw your footprints," Malfoy shrugged. For some reason that Harry couldn’t figure out for the life of him, Malfoy didn’t seem angry. He was just sitting there, arms wrapped casually around his legs as if talking to Harry was something he did every night. “And I could see your shadow.”

“Oh. I - I’m sorry, I’ll go," Harry blurted out, struggling to his feet. “I didn't mean to - to spy on you or anything, I just wanted to see what you were doing, but then - " Harry was aware that he was rambling, but his brain seemed unable to supply anything more substantial. He turned away, preparing to make a break for it.

“Potter." Malfoy cut him off, his tone undecipherable. Harry stopped reluctantly, turning his head back to look at Malfoy.

“What?" he asked hesitantly, still poised to flee.

“I wasn't mad at you."

“Oh," Harry said stupidly, unsure what to make of that. “Okay?"

“I was just saying, you don't have to keep hiding. The lake doesn't belong to me. You can go skating too." Malfoy stood up from the ground, gesturing simply towards the lake.

“Oh, er..."

“You don't have to," Malfoy said, shrugging again in that infuriating way of his. “I’m just saying."

“No, it's just - I don't know how..." Harry trailed off again, vaguely embarrassed. He didn’t even know what was coming out of his mouth. The words just spilled forth as he tried to figure out what was going on.

Malfoy arched on eyebrow at him, tilting his head to the side. “You don't know how to skate?"

Harry looked away defensively. “Go on then, get it over with."

“Go on what?" Malfoy asked, seeming genuinely confused.

“Make fun of me, tell the world that the famous Harry Potter can't skate. Whatever it is you're going to do."

“I wasn't going to make fun of you."

Harry looked back to find Malfoy watching him closely. “Right,” he huffed sarcastically. “Why would you make fun of me?”

“I’m serious.”

For some unfathomable reason, Harry could tell that he was telling the truth. “Why aren't you mad?”

Malfoy just laughed slightly, rolled his eyes, and then answered his question with another. “Why are you having a conversation with me even though I’m a Death Eater?"

Harry chose not to respond to that.

They stood there for a second in the darkness, neither of them speaking a word. There was a strange feeling in the air, the silence quelling any sounds from the rest of the world.

It was just the two of them. Two arch-nemeses, standing side by side. They had been rivals for so long that Harry wanted to run, because everything about this situation was entirely _wrong._

Finally, Malfoy broke the silence.

“Well, are you going to skate or what?"

“I told you," Harry said, slightly frustrated now, “I don't know how."

There was a long pause where Malfoy’s mouth opened and closed slightly, as though he was debating whether or not to say something. Finally — “I could teach you," he said quietly.

Through the darkness Harry could just make out Malfoy's face. He was still watching Harry, studying him carefully while he waited for an answer, his expression on the brink between uncertain and intrigued.

“You could teach me," Harry repeated blankly, sure he had heard wrong, or at least that this was a dream. But Malfoy just nodded at him, agreeing.

“But —“ Harry spluttered, “But…why — what?"

“I know how to skate," Malfoy said with exaggerated patience, pointing to himself. “You do not.” He pointed to Harry. “Therefore," he continued slowly, as though speaking to somebody very young, “I could teach you." A small smile quirked the corner of his mouth as he watched Harry.

“Yes, but we're — we're enemies!"

“Are we?" Malfoy asked, his head tilting to the side again. His demeanor was slipping back into the cool guard that Harry was so used to. “Then by all means, forget I asked."

“I don’t - " Harry began again, but Malfoy cut him off sharply.

“Look, Potter. If you don't want me to teach you, just say no instead of acting like I’m ridiculous for asking."

“No, I just…” Harry took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts. He had forgotten how cold it was, and rubbed his hands together in a meager attempt to warm them back up. Apparently his warming charms weren’t as effective as he had hoped. “You're serious, then? You're not just offering so you can go running off, telling everyone how pathetic I am?"

“Does it look like i have anybody to tell?" Malfoy asked, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

There was another pause, where neither of them spoke, and then Harry made up his mind.

“Okay."

“Okay?" Now Malfoy was the one with shock written across his features, looking for all the world like he had just been stunned.

“Yeah. Teach me how to skate." Harry had no idea what he was saying.

Malfoy smiled hesitantly at him, nodding slowly. “Okay. Meet me here tomorrow at midnight," he said, his head tilted to the side like he had expected anything _but_ this. After a slight silence, he spoke once more. “Goodnight, Potter."

He stretched, brushing the snow off his legs and muttering a spell that turned his skates into shoes. After one last glance at Harry, he disappeared into the night, the darkness swallowing him whole.

“Goodnight," Harry whispered back, his voice lost in the sky.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry couldn't believe he had agreed to let Malfoy teach him how to skate. Even more than that, he couldn't believe Malfoy had offered. It was the kind of thing that you would offer to a friend, an acquaintance even. It wasn’t the kind of thing you did with somebody who you had spent the last seven years fighting.

Even so, Harry refused to overthink it. He found that in the end, he didn't care if this was the strangest, most unlikely thing in the world. He was tired of doing what everybody else wanted to do, and apparently Malfoy was too. He was going to meet Malfoy, and he didn't care what anybody else might think. Not that they would know, of course.

When he sat down for breakfast in the Great Hall the next day, Malfoy met his eyes again and Harry couldn't stop the smile that stole across his face. He averted his eyes quickly before anybody noticed, but not before he saw Malfoy return the hesitant smile, one eyebrow raised.

Harry carried this little bubble of anticipation with him throughout all of his classes, ignoring Ron's suspicious glances and inquiries as to why he kept spacing out. The thing was, he couldn't even explain it to himself. He didn't understand why his impending meeting with _Malfoy_ of all people was making him feel something akin to excitement.

Maybe it was just because they had been enemies for so long, and it was a relief to settle everything at last. He wasn't sure. He didn't fight against it. He just waited calmly, or as calmly as possible, for night to settle at last.

If he hadn't been able to sleep on previous nights, tonight was impossible. He just sat in his bed, watching as the time ticked closer and closer to midnight, his eyes fixed on the small box of the Slytherin common room. It was as if his heartbeat was tied to the little blot that showed Malfoy, because when Malfoy start to move, he could feel his heart rate pick up.

He slid quietly out of his bed like he had grown so accustomed to doing, tiptoeing out of the common room quietly so as not to wake Ron. Except this time, he didn't bother to disguise his footprints leading to the ice. He just trailed alongside the fresh indentations, tamping down the snow with every step.

This time, when he reached the lake, he didn't lurk in the shadows. Malfoy saw him approaching and skated over to the edge.

“You came," he said, looking as if he didn't quite believe it, and Harry nodded, swallowing harder than he was accustomed to.

“Yeah. I did.” Harry couldn’t quite believe it himself.

Malfoy just looked at him, a small smile spreading over his face, and Harry felt himself wondering what on earth he had gotten himself into. Malfoy looked critically at Harry's shoes before pulling out his wand and kneeling next to him.

“What are you doing?" Harry asked quickly, warily eyeing the wand that was pointed at his feet.

“Are you planning to skate in shoes?" Malfoy asked, looking up at him, one infuriating eyebrow arching, amusement reflected in his voice. “That's not usually how it works, but by all means..."

“Oh, shut up,” Harry muttered, feeling stupid. Malfoy just laughed, and then tapped Harry's shoes with a whispered spell. It was as if they had melted into some weird living thing, and they shifted, twisting into a pair of black skates. He hesitantly took a step, feeling the blade crunch into the snow.

“Ready?" Malfoy asked, and Harry nodded, sucking in a breath of cool air to steady himself. “Come on, then," he said as he stepped back onto the ice, gliding backwards a few inches before easily balancing like he had been doing this his whole life. Come to think of it, he probably had. Learning to skate was probably some classic pureblood tradition.

Harry approached the edge of the ice cautiously, glaring at it as though it were about to cave in.

“How do I do this?" Harry asked, certain that he would slip the second he tried to set foot on the ice.

Malfoy considered him thoughtfully for a moment, before holding out his hands in a question. “I could guide you," he said nodding towards his outstretched hands. “That way you don't have to worry about falling."

“No, that's okay," Harry said hurriedly, feeling a flush creeping up his neck. He silently thanked the darkness for concealing it.

He felt more than saw when Malfoy raised his eyebrows. Again.

“Nobody's watching, Potter." Harry still didn’t move.

Malfoy just shrugged and skated backwards a few feet, letting his hands fall to his sides. “Fine, then. Do it yourself. I forgot, why would the perfect Harry Potter need any help?” His tone was sharp and tinged with a mixture between anger and embarrassment, and Harry swallowed down an angry retort that was brimming in his throat.

Unable to chicken out now, he took a tentative step closer, eyeing the lake skeptically.

“What if it cracks?" Harry asked, and Malfoy rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Aren't you a Gryffindor? Where's all that famed courage?"

Harry bristled before realizing that instead of being laced with scorn, Malfoy's tone was softer than he had expected. Still slightly angry, but… different. So Harry didn’t snap back. He just let out a shaky laugh, and then readied himself.

He stepped out onto the ice with a bravado he didn’t quite feel, determined to show Malfoy that he could skate too —

And he promptly fell on his arse.

“Ow!" he cried, looking helplessly up at Malfoy. “It's slippery!"

“It's _ice_ ," Malfoy pointed out, and Harry glared up at him mutinously. He gathered his knees under him, bracing himself with his hands, and tried to push himself to his feet.

And then he fell on his arse. Again. Malfoy stood there imperiously, amusement gathering in his expression as Harry struggled to get up.

“At least I'm better at Quidditch than you,” Harry muttered under his breath, unable to resist goading him, but Malfoy just smiled that strange half-smile of his.

“What was that, Potter? I couldn’t hear you from all the way down there.” Harry glared at him, trying to shove himself to his feet once more. Several tries later, when he found himself sprawled across the cool surface once again, he let out a frustrated sound. There was nothing else for it.

“Oh, bugger,“ Harry muttered under his breath, looking away from Malfoy. “Just help, okay?”

“Sorry, what?” Malfoy asked, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“Bloody help me, will you?” Harry blurted out, and Malfoy took mercy on him, skating over to pull him up. He reached down, and Harry took a deep breath before grabbing Malfoy's hands and hoisting himself up.

He would learn how to skate if it was the last thing he did.


	6. Chapter 6

As it turned out, learning to skate might very well be the last thing he did.

He stood facing Malfoy, his legs unsteady and awkward, the treacherous length of ice seeming to stretch forever beneath him. He was holding onto Malfoy's hands for dear life, and even so he was almost certain he would slip and crack open his head.

“It's okay," Malfoy said, seeming to sense Harry's discomfort and refraining from teasing him. Although Harry would never admit it, he was grateful for that. “I won't let you fall,” Malfoy insisted reassuringly.

“I’m sure you won’t,” Harry snorted, sarcasm lacing his voice, and Malfoy just grinned.

“Just follow me. When I move a foot back, you move a foot forwards."

“I was insane to agree to this.” Harry kept his eyes trained on Malfoy’s bladed feet as he slowly dragged one backwards across the ice, leaving a little indentation in its wake. Harry followed him dubiously, slipping one of his feet forward and hanging onto Malfoy for balance.

How he had convinced himself that it was a good idea to place his trust in Malfoy, he had no idea. Especially when Malfoy was wearing shoes with knives attached to the bottoms.

“Look at that, Potter. You aren’t _entirely_ hopeless.” They wound their way backwards across the lake, Harry slipping and sliding, looking like some awkward baby giraffe next to Malfoy's effortless steps.

He was trying to focus on his feet, but it was difficult when he was all too aware of Malfoy’s hands wrapped around his own, steadying Harry as he was guided backwards. It just felt so completely _wrong._ This was Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, the one who hated Harry and believed in pureblood superiority. It was Malfoy, teaching him how to skate.

And of course, he kept coming back to the long fingers that were gripping his own.

“You're getting it now!" Malfoy said animatedly as they fell into a shaky rhythm. It made Harry unreasonably happy to see Malfoy so excited after months of seeing him stare blankly at teachers and sit alone at meals as though he was nothing more than a ghost.

Eventually, they collapsed in the snow on the edge, Harry's breath coming hard. Of course, Malfoy seemed completely unfazed, his hair somehow pristine and immaculate, his cheeks slightly flushed from the cold.

“Why do you come out here at night?" Harry asked curiously.

“It helps distract me," Malfoy murmured, not looking at Harry. “Nightmares.” He said the last word so softly that Harry was almost sure he had imagined it.

“I’m sorry," Harry said, realizing with a start that he genuinely meant it. Malfoy merely shrugged.

“I’m paying the price.” He didn't look angry about it. It was as if he just accepted that this was how things were, and that they weren't going to change. Harry had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to say the wrong thing, and when he opened his mouth, no words popped into his head.

“Don’t," Malfoy frowned, as though he expected Harry to make some heroic speech. He looked down, playing idly with his fingernails. “Forget it. Let’s not talk about this.”

Harry wanted to argue. He looked back at Malfoy and debating, studying the tension that framed his figure.

“We should talk about it,” Harry said finally, unable to help himself. “The war. We can’t just —”

Malfoy’s face was closed off now as he looked away, determinedly avoiding eye contact. “Potter.” The air seemed to drop a few degrees, and his voice was so far from the almost-friendly tone from before that it sent a shiver down Harry’s spine.

“Malfoy, we can’t ignore it.”

Malfoy stood up abruptly, transfiguring their skates back into shoes with a dismissive flick of his wand.

“It was nice seeing you, Potter,” he said loudly, ignoring Harry entirely. He was standing rigidly, as though all of the emotions from before had flowed right back into his muscles.

“I —” Harry cut himself off, unsure how to continue. Malfoy just watched him impatiently, looking like he was on the verge of just walking away. “I still want to learn,” Harry said finally, and even though he spoke in a whisper, it rang through the air.

“Fine,” Malfoy said curtly. He exuded a harsh confidence, but there was a waver in his voice. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Same time.”

Then he left, without another word, leaving Harry to figure out what on earth had just happened.

 

* * *

  

It was slightly tense, after that. They stayed away the topic of their history altogether, but it was there between them, their careful avoidance from the night before. They both acted like it had never happened, but was a little bit _too_ casual, a little bit too forced.

It took a week before Malfoy finally breached the topic. They were skating again, with Malfoy carefully leading Harry. He was looking resolutely down at the ice when he spoke.

“How do you do this?"

Harry was sure the question was directed at him because he was the only other one there, but Malfoy had spoken almost as if to himself.

“Do what?" Harry asked absentmindedly, maneuvering himself around a little bump in the ice. He was still latched onto Malfoy’s hands, trying not to think too much about the contact.

“How do you just ignore the fact that it's me?" Malfoy’s voice was a mixture of emotions. Harry thought he could hear sadness, tinged with something that sounded kind of like apprehension, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“What do you mean?"

“Don’t pretend. You know what I mean.”

They had come to a stop on the side of the lake, silhouetted trees looming above them. The moon was hidden by clouds, making it hard to discern Malfoy’s expression. Harry sat down heavily on the ground, wincing slightly. The snow from a few days previous had melted, leaving a thin residue of icy slush. Malfoy sat down next to him, just staring out towards the castle.

“I don’t know,“ Harry said at last, tugging at his hair in frustration. “It’s easier. It works, like this. If I think about our past, it will all fall apart. Plus, you didn’t want to talk about it.”

Malfoy let out a noise, a frustrated exhale of sound, but didn't say anything. he just kicked at a patch of frozen snow with the blade of his skate, sending a chip of ice skidding onto the lake.

“That bothers you,” Harry watched him carefully. “Why?”

Malfoy just frowned down at the dirt, as if it had done something wrong. Finally, he looked up at Harry, bracing himself. He didn’t answer Harry’s question, merely said, “I’ll talk. If you want.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly, not wanting him to change his mind. “Talk, then.”

“I’m sorry I keep pretending nothing happened,” Malfoy said, still staring down at his skates as though there was something for him to learn by studying the laces. “There’s just no way to go back, after everything, so it feels like a waste of time to talk about it.”

“Why are you different now?”

Malfoy let out a hard exhale, kicking the ice again. “Look, Potter, this isn't something I usually talk about.”

“I know,” Harry told him. “But none of this is usual. Just pretend I’m not here.”

Finally, after a long moment, Malfoy spoke. “I never really wanted people to hurt. I know that I _did_ hurt people, but I didn’t enjoy their pain. Not like — like the rest of them.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

“No,” Malfoy insisted, “it isn’t. Nothing about this is okay.”

“You said it yourself, Malfoy. We can’t go back and change it now.”

“How do you do this, though? How do you look at me and talk to me when I tried to kill Dumbledore, when I was horrible to you and your friends for years, when I’m a Death Eater?”

“Malfoy,” Harry said softly, trying to catch Malfoy’s eye, but he was looking off into the trees, not making eye contact. “Everybody else hates you, so I figured you needed somebody to give you a second chance.”

Malfoy laughed then, but it wasn't happy. It was ugly and bitter, and for some reason it made Harry feel like he was back in first year, facing the crowds of awestruck people. "Thanks, Potter. That's just what I need. Another chance, so that I can fuck everything up again.”

Malfoy’s fists were clenched at his sides now, his voice trembling with suppressed anger. He took a deep breath, and then spread his hands against the ground, tilting his head back and closing his eyes.

Neither of them spoke for a minute.

“I’m sorry," Malfoy said at last, “I’m not mad at you. I’m just mad at myself for being who I am."

“Who you _were,"_ Harry corrected him, pulling his legs up to his chest.

“No, Potter, who I am. My past is a part of me.” Harry tried to interrupt, but Malfoy shook his head vehemently. “I just want you to get mad at me. I’m sitting here in limbo, waiting for you to wake up and realize who I really am and away.”

“Fine,” Harry said, “You want me to tell you how I really feel.”

“ _Yes,"_ Malfoy said emphatically, his voice filled with relief despite the sneer still twisting his face. “Please. I’m not going to break, no matter how fragile I may seem.”

“Okay,” Harry said. “I’m angry. I’m angry that you picked on my friends, and you think that purebloods are above everyone. I’m angry that you tried to get Hagrid sacked, and that you sang songs about Ron during Quidditch games when he was already self conscious enough. I'm angry about everything you said to Hermione and Neville and Merlin knows how many other people. You were horrible.”

Malfoy shifted and opened his mouth as if to speak, but Harry forestalled him with a finger.

“I’m not angry that you became a death eater, though, because Voldemort probably would have killed you if you refused. You and your family were being threatened. And despite what you say, that’s over now. I’m not pretending it didn’t happen. I’m just trying to give you a chance to be someone new. I don’t have to forgive you in order to be your friend.”

“Friend?” Malfoy was still looking away, but Harry could hear him clearly.

“Yeah,” he said firmly, “Friend.”

“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Malfoy said. “I know you want to give me another chance or whatever, but you don’t have to stay because you pity me for some weird reason.”

“Stop talking,“ Harry promptly, pushing himself up from the ground, his feet almost slipping out from under him. “I'm tired of this, and I still need to learn how to skate.“

Malfoy shot him a grateful glance before following suit, grabbing Harry's arm just in time to keep him from falling to his doom.

“Do you want to try on your own?" he asked, nodding towards the ice. Just like that, they returned to the back-and-forth, as if their conversation hadn’t even happened. But the air felt lighter, somehow.

“Not yet," Harry said. “I’m not that good."

Malfoy didn't seem to mind. He just smiled and rolled his eyes, stepping smoothly backwards onto the ice and holding out his hands in a silent invitation.

Harry still wasn't over the feeling of Malfoy’s fingers intertwining with his own, tugging him gently onto the ice. He wasn't sure if he ever would be, really.

“Hey Harry?" Malfoy pulled him carefully backwards as he spoke, glancing behind him every so often.

“Yeah?"

“As much as I hoped I would never have to say this, thanks. For tolerating me." His voice was grudging, but true.

Harry just grinned back at him. “Trust me, it isn’t easy. But I owed you one, anyways, because you’re teaching me how to skate.”

“Trust me,” Malfoy smirked, echoing his words, “It isn’t easy.”

"Oh, shut up."

"You’re getting better, you know,” Malfoy admitted. Harry tilted his head up from where he had been concentrating on his feet, and Malfoy’s eyes locked onto his.

“No thanks to my teacher,” he retorted, and Malfoy just rolled his eyes easily, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “ _Sod off.”_   Even when Harry focused back on his feet, he could feel Malfoy watching him. For some inexplicable reason, it made him nervous, and he felt a little less stable than usual. All he could hear was the scratch of their skates as they moved elegantly backwards, and the even intakes of breath as he clumsily tried to keep up.

The nights were growing colder now, and Harry's weak warming charms didn't stand a chance against the persistently frosty air. He felt a shiver pass through him as the warmth began to fade again.

“Are you cold?" Malfoy asked worriedly, frowning at him.

“No,” Harry said immediately, because he could.

“You bloody idiot," Malfoy grumbled, letting go of Harry for a minute. “We're on the ice in the middle of winter, during the night no less. Why didn't you wear something warmer?"

“It's fine," Harry insisted, trying to ignore the way the cold pushed into his skin.

Malfoy just shook his head and unwound the silvery green scarf that had been wrapped around his neck.

“What - " Harry started, and then realized what Malfoy was doing. “Seriously, I’m fine!”

“No you bloody well aren't, you're shivering," Malfoy insisted, skating around behind him. Harry felt far too vulnerable, standing precariously on the ice without Malfoy holding him up.

The soft material of the scarf brushed against him as Malfoy carefully draped it around his neck. Harry was certain he had imagined the cool fingers brushing against his skin as they pulled away, lingering on the satin scarf.

“Thanks,” Harry said quietly, rubbing the silky emerald fabric between his finger.

Malfoy seemed embarrassed, a slight pink tinge resting high on his cheekbones. “Next time wear something warmer," he said. “And you're an idiot," he added for good measure, before picking Harry's hands up once more.

When they both agreed it was too cold to stay out any longer, something kept Harry from giving the scarf back. Malfoy must have forgotten about it, because he didn't say anything. It was hard for Harry to explain it to himself. Why, when he returned to his dormitory that night, he sat in bed holding the scarf in his hands. It was hard to explain why he fisted his hands around the fabric, breathing in the distinctive scent that he had come to recognize as Malfoy’s.

So he didn't try to explain it. He fell asleep quickly that night, curled around Malfoy’s scarf.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco couldn't help but wonder what would happen after Potter learned how to skate.

He didn't bring it up because he was too scared of the answer. He enjoyed Potter’s company far more than he cared to admit, and somehow he didn't envy the thought of going back to skating alone.

It wasn't like they talked during school. They barely acknowledged each other, with inclined heads and secret smiles when nobody was looking. If Potter left once he could skate, he was scared that even the smiles would slowly fade away.

He didn't like the thought of that.

The thing was, as much as Draco was loathe to say it, he had never really had a _friend_ before. Not like this. Not like Potter, who talked to him despite everything, who laughed and skated and met him at midnight. So he tried to ignore the uneasiness, instead making the most of these strange moments of ease and happiness between him and Potter.

He captured each of the memories, storing them in a growing reservoir in his brain that was devoted to Harry.

_Potter, absentmindedly lacing up his skates, stepping onto the ice only to realize he had accidentally tied them together and falling flat on his face._

_Potter, clinging to Draco’s hands every time he stumbled, like Draco was the only thing in the world keeping him grounded._

_Potter, the sound of his laugh echoing brightly around the air when Draco said something stupid._

_Potter, glancing up every so often to meet Draco's eyes and just smiling, warmly, as if nothing else really mattered._

_Potter, walking past his desk in Potions class and letting out an innocuous little noise that sounded suspiciously like "Hi."_

It was hard for Draco to like someone this much. It was something his father had warned him against, and no matter how hard he tried to dismiss his father's ideals, they were always there, ingrained in the back of his mind. He knew he shouldn't get attached to people, least of all Harry Potter.

All of this was a bad idea. Continuing to meet Potter was the worst idea of all. The longer he stayed, the more his emotions twisted, and he and Potter were barely even friends.

Draco told himself this over and over, that the more his feelings grew, the more trouble he would be in.

And yet, he just couldn't stay away.

 

* * *

  

For Harry, the strangest thing about it was how much he found himself looking forwards to their meetings. It had been multiple times now that Hermione had slipped a comment about Harry's sleeping habits into their conversations, but he just brushed it off every time. It didn't bother him that he was sacrificing his sleep. 

The only problem was that as much as the impending skating lessons buoyed him up, it still felt like everything was slowly caving in around him. It was especially noticeable at meals, when it was hard for Harry to hide from the rest of the world.

Ron and Hermione were sitting together like always, Ron's arm slung casually around her back. She was laughing about something, rolling her eyes at him. Ginny was chatting idly with Neville about some new species of plant they had recently discovered in Germany. Seamus was roaring with laughter at Dean and holding out his hand, no doubt to collect money for some bet they had.

Harry wasn't sure why this had hit him so suddenly. He knew they were all his friends, that he could jump into any of their conversations and be accepted, but even so a wave of isolation washed over him.

They didn’t really need him there. They would be just as well off if he left, because they all had _each other._

He looked over at the Slytherin table as had become his habit, and saw Malfoy sitting alone at the end of his table like always, emotionlessly eating his food, because to him all it meant was survival.

Harry had to get out. He stood up from the table and muttered something about the bathroom when Ron looked up at him questioningly, momentarily concerned. He ignored the worried look on Hermione's face as he walked quickly out of the Great Hall.

They would protest if he tried to explain it to them. They would insist and tell them that _of course he mattered to them._

So he walked away, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him.

They were always fucking whispering.

 

* * *

  

Draco saw him go. He looked up when whispers broke out all over the room, hundreds of heads turning like a pack of vultures.

He could tell immediately that something was wrong. There was a difference in the way Potter was walking, as though he was in a hurry to get out. When he looked over at the Gryffindor table, he could see his own concern reflected on Granger's face.

He couldn't just sit there, so he jumped up from the table and walked quickly from the hall, keeping his head down and trying to leave before everybody noticed his departure. He caught a flash of black hair and whirling robes disappearing around the corner, a blur of movement that he had come to recognize as Potter.

His steps lengthened as he tried to keep up, his shirt catching on the door when he pushed into the bathroom where Potter had just vanished.

An overwhelming sense of déja vu passed over him, and he remembered the last time they had been alone in a bathroom together. He came to a full stop, the memory seeming to freeze him as he stood, and he scanned the room in front of him nervously.

Then he pushed ahead despite his misgivings, because this time, it was different. It _would_ be different.

He found Potter sitting on the bare floor, his hands threaded through his hair, head resting on his knees.

“Potter?” Draco asked timidly. He saw the moment Potter realized someone was there, because he froze, his whole body tense, not moving his head from his knees.

“Calm down, it’s just me." Draco walked over to him, sinking down the the ground. He nudged Potter with his elbow. “Nobody else is here."

The tension seemed to flood out of him in one big sigh. He looked up at Draco and then let his head fall back against the wall, eyes fluttering closed.

Draco didn't say anything just yet. He sat next to Potter, trying not to pay too much attention the the planes of his face, because this wasn’t the time. It would never be the time, really.

“I’m just tired," Potter whispered. “I could leave this world, and it would be okay. They don’t need me here, you know. I did my part.”

“Yeah," Draco leaned back against the wall too, looking sideways at Potter. “I could leave too, and it would be okay.“

“No,” Potter said, as though reflexively. “I wouldn’t want you to leave. Then I wouldn’t ever learn how to skate.”

Draco looked over at him in surprise. “Potter, I don’t know if you’re ever going to learn how to skate regardless, at the rate you’re going.”

Potter started laughing, bumping his head gently against the wall behind him. “Well, maybe if I had a better teacher…”

“You’re walking a dangerous line,” Draco warned. He narrowed his eyes, mostly to suppress the smile that was threatening to overtake his face. “I’d be careful what I said, if I were you.”

Potter let out a surprised noise that sounded like a laugh, and when the silence started to get heavy, Draco took up the conversation.

“Is that why you came here, then? You were tired?”

“I guess.” Potter worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “And I’m so done with being the savior, with people judging and breaking down every little thing I do. You never do that.”

“Considering my past, I’m not really in a place to be judging,” Draco said bitterly, scuffing the bottom of his foot against the floor.

“Yeah, but you don't see me as a hero either.“

“And apparently you don't see me as a Death Eater. So somehow, this works."

Just as Draco’s legs were starting to cramp, Potter stood up, brushing off his robes. He held out a hand to Draco in offering.

After a second, Draco grabbed Potter’s hand to hoist himself up, silently telling himself to stop overthinking everything. It didn't mean anything that they were once again holding hands.

Even though that seemed to be happening a lot, as of late.


	8. Chapter 8

Draco knew he was fucked. He knew it, even though he had explicitly warned himself that it would be a bad idea to get close to Potter. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He wasn’t supposed be friends with Potter, let alone _this._

He told himself over and over that it didn’t matter what he felt, and he believed it too. They wouldn’t stand a chance, no matter what happened. But still, that couldn’t stop him from relishing the way Harry held onto his hands.

“When I was younger, I accidentally trapped my cousin inside of a tank with a giant snake,” Potter was telling him. Draco couldn’t even remember how they had gotten on the topic, only that they found themselves sharing childhood stories. It was funny how easy it had become to talk to Potter.

Draco was so preoccupied with Harry’s story that he didn't notice a branch sticking out of the ice, looming up before him. It came as a complete surprise when Potter collapsed to the ice with a yelp of pain, his leg skewed out at an awkward angle.

“Fuck," Potter grimaced, speaking through clenched teeth. “Ow. That hurts."

Draco dropped down to one knee next to him, panic building inside of him, starting as a slow trickle and then coming faster and faster. It was always like this, a whirlwind that spiraled out of control.

“Are you okay?" he asked frantically, watching as Potter tried to move his leg.

“Merlin. No. Can't really move my leg."

Draco took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “You need to go to the hospital wing."

“But..." Potter looked at him reproachfully. “It's the middle of the night, Madam Pomfrey will be mad."

“So what? Just tell her you tripped or something. Potter, you can't even move your leg!" Draco’s breath was coming too fast now, and there was a low ringing sound in his ears.

“Malfoy, it's okay," Potter reassured him, slowly moving his leg out in front of him, squeezing his eyes closed against the pain.

“No it's not," Draco said helplessly, trying fruitlessly to get his heartbeat under control. “You're hurt! What if something happens? It’s all my fault, I should have been paying attention, I was distracting y - ”

Potter cut him off. "It’s okay," he said quietly, “I probably just strained a muscle. I’ll go to the hospital wing, alright? Just breathe, Malfoy. I’ll be fine." Draco nodded, embarrassed at his panic. Here Potter was, with an injured leg, and he was just making it worse by freaking out. They slowly walked to the hospital wing, Potter hobbling weakly along, Draco supporting him even though his own legs weren't feeling so steady.

“I’m sorry," Draco said miserably when he was certain he could breathe again, “I’m making a mess of everything."

“No you aren't Malfoy, it's all fine." They had reached the door of the hospital wing now, and Potter took his arm back from where it had been around Draco’s shoulders, leaning against the wall for support.

“What are you doing? I’ll help you walk in," Draco said, eyeing Potter’s leg nervously.

“No!” Harry said quickly, glancing around. “I just — it’s fine, you can go back to your dormitory, I’ll go from here."

Draco opened his mouth to argue, when a thought struck him. Maybe Potter didn't want to be seen with him. It made sense. That’s probably why he didn't want to go to the hospital wing, why he told Draco to go back to his dormitory. Maybe that's why Potter only ever talked with him in the dead of night when nobody could see.

So he just nodded mutely, shooting Potter a smile that he didn't really feel, watching as he awkwardly opened the door and limped inside.

Draco was such an idiot.

Of course Potter didn't want to be seen with him.

Who would?

 

* * *

 

Harry hobbled his way into the hospital wing. He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him until the door swung shut, and then he leaned against the wall in relief. The hospital wing was currently devoid of life, save for a small light in Madam Pomfrey's office.

“Madam Pomfrey?" he called out, not wanting to startle her. He was holding himself up with the wall when she came bustling out.

“Potter," she sighed, relaxing slightly, “Of course, I should have known. What is it this time?"

“I think I hurt my leg,” he said, wincing, “I was coming back from the bathroom and I tripped over something."

“I see," she said suspiciously, looking him over. “Well, go lie down, I’ll get you something."

Harry collapsed gratefully onto the nearest bed, stretching out his leg in front of him. Madam Pomfrey came back with a purple liquid that was bubbling slightly, holding her wand in front of her.

She cast a few murmured spells over his leg, frowned slightly, and set the potion down.

“Broken," she said disapprovingly, “And you twisted your ankle. You may as well spend the night here. Drink this." She held out the potion to him, shaking her head. Harry nodded and thanked her, taking the proffered glass. A few minutes later he slipped off into a deep sleep.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up late the next morning, Ron and Hermione were already sitting by his bed.

“Harry!" Hermione cried out when she saw he was no longer asleep, nudging Ron in the side. “You're awake. What happened?"

“Broke my leg, but it's all fine," Harry said, yawning and sitting up. A slight twinge ran through his leg, but nothing more.

“How did you break it?" Hermione asked, almost as exasperated as Madam Pomfrey had been, which was saying something.

“I tripped,” Harry said. He yawned, not bothering to elaborate.

“Why didn't you wake me up, then? You can't tell me you walked all the way to the hospital wing with a broken leg,” Ron said, looking at him strangely.

“Yeah, I did," Harry said sheepishly, quickly trying to think of something. “I felt bad waking you up. You looked really tired."

“Harry..." Hermione began, trailing off, and then glancing at Ron for support. Ron just glared back at her, and Hermione let out a sigh, sending him another look before turning back to Harry. “Look, Harry, we know something's going on," she told him finally. She shrugged. “You can always talk to us."

“Thanks," Harry said awkwardly, and they looked at him expectantly. “It's really nothing, though. Sometimes I just go for walks when I can't sleep. It helps me clear my head." Hermione still looked suspicious, but thankfully she didn't argue.

“What's that?" Harry asked, spotting a small envelope sitting on the table next to him.

“That's what we were going to ask you," Hermione said, eyebrows raised. “It was here when we came in." She passed it over to Harry.

He turned over the cream colored envelope, wondering what on earth it could be. On the other side, written in black cursive, it said, “ _To the Boy who Lived, but was Incapable of Everything Else.”_ Harry let out a small laugh before he could help himself. He could practically hear Malfoy's drawling voice though the paper.

“What is it?" Ron asked, watching Harry's face for clues.

“No idea." Harry felt only slightly bad about lying through his teeth. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to tell them about Malfoy just yet. He would eventually, but he didn't want to see their shared looks about how he had gone crazy. “I’ll open it later." He slipped it into the pocket of his robe before they could argue.

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey came hurrying in.

“You two! Out, now, I just need to do a few things." She shooed them out, bringing Harry another potion. “Take this, wait fifteen minutes, and then you're good to go." She left the potion on his night table, and when he was sure she was gone, he pulled out the note. He unfolded it carefully to reveal the same carefully penned cursive as the outside.

_I understand your desire not to be seen in my company, so I didn't come to visit you. I hope your leg improves quickly, because I don't really want to skate alone._

_I’ll see you tonight, hopefully._

_\- M._


	9. Chapter 9

Harry hurried to the lake faster than usual that night, and he was out of breath by the time he got there. He found Malfoy sitting with his back pressed up against a tree.

“You came," Malfoy said without looking up, and despite his composure, Harry could hear a note of relief in his voice.

“You’re an _idiot_ ," Harry gasped out, trying to catch his breath. Even after nights filled with skating, it seemed he wasn't as fit as he had hoped. “You are an idiot," he added again once he was able to breathe normally, just for good measure.

Malfoy's brow furrowed, his eyebrows drawing together tightly. “What did I do?"

“Why did you think I don't want to be seen with you?" Harry demanded, brandishing the letter Malfoy had sent him.

“I — well, you didn't want me to help you into the hospital wing, and you don't talk to me during the day, and — it's okay, I don't mind."

“I didn't want you to come into the hospital wing because you would have gotten in trouble for being up so late, you tosser. I don’t talk to you during the day because I didn't think you wanted the attention."

“Oh."

“Malfoy, I don't give a fuck if anybody sees us together, okay?" Harry didn't wait for a response. Instead, he just stepped towards the ice, turning back to toss a grin at Malfoy over his shoulder. "Let’s skate.”

It wasn't long before they were slipping and sliding across the ice again. At this point Harry was certain that he didn't need Malfoy’s help anymore. Something held him back, though. Maybe it was Malfoy’s hands fitting easily over his own. Or maybe he just didn't want this to end.

But even his confidence that he was able to skate without Malfoy’s help didn't stop him from taking an awkward step, getting his legs tangled up, and falling. Again. On top of Malfoy. They tumbled backwards, a blur of limbs and flashing skates.

“Sorry!" Harry cried out, finding himself face to face with Malfoy. Malfoy’s body was warm against the frigid night air, and Harry quickly rolled off, resolutely ignoring the twinge in his stomach. Malfoy didn't make any move to get up, though. He was just lying on the ice, shaking with laughter, staring up at the sky that was shrouded in darkness. There were little flecks of white scattered throughout it, even though the moon wasn't visible.

Eventually, Harry flopped back down next to him. They lay there silently for a while, both just staring up at the sky.

“Why did you watch me?" Malfoy asked suddenly. “At the beginning. Why did you keep coming back?"

Harry could feel an uncomfortable heat creeping up his neck, and he pressed himself closer to the ice. “I… er — I dunno."

Malfoy’s head turned to look over at him. “Bollocks, of course you do. Just tell me, it's not like I’m going to laugh."

“I was just curious," Harry said, “Because you just looked so free and open and... and nothing like Malfoy, I guess. And you were beautiful. No! Not — I mean — what I meant is that I’ve never seen anybody skate like that."

“I was beautiful?" Malfoy asked, something in his voice that Harry couldn't place.

“Oh, just shut up," Harry said, trying to play it off like it was nothing at all. “You said you weren't going to laugh."

“I’m not laughing. I just thought I heard you wrong." This was Harry’s opportunity. Malfoy had given him a chance to back out, to say that he had just misheard.

“No, you heard right." It felt dangerous, as though every word he spoke split his skin and left him raw, as though the frost was scalding his insides.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess." Harry hated the way he couldn’t place Malfoy’s tone, because he wanted to know, he wanted to know _so badly_ what Malfoy was thinking right now.

“Yeah."

There was something in the air, as though they were toeing the edge of a line it would be hard to come back from. They stayed there for a while, lying side by side, staring up at the stars. Harry felt more at ease than he had in a long time, lying next to Draco Malfoy, of all people.

He really was beautiful.

 

* * *

 

Now the days seemed tediously long, something he had to get through just so that he could see Malfoy again. He caught himself staring at meals on more than one occasion, savoring the moments that Malfoy would look up and their eyes would meet.

Harry thought that maybe something had changed. It was in their long glances, in the way that Malfoy guiding him across the ice felt strangely intimate, as though they were far too close and their breaths had become one.

The problem was, he didn’t know if Malfoy felt the difference too. What if it was just him who was aware of the possibilities that now seemed to permeate their every conversation? What if to Malfoy, it was the same it had always been — a strange half friendship where they only talked in the dead of night?

And that was part of the problem too, wasn’t it.

Whatever this — this _thing_ with Malfoy was, Harry had somehow deluded himself into thinking it was completely real, an actual friendship. As soon as the sun came up, though, it was as if the spell was broken, because in the daylight everything was too solid and too real. Far too dangerous. Nothing could ever happen, because they couldn’t even exist in their real life. They were stuck in this half asleep trance, where the night cushioned their words and cloaked them from the terrifying realities they so desperately ran from.

He hated thinking about it, about the future. He didn’t want to consider what would happen after Hogwarts, or what would happen when he could no longer conceivably pretend that he didn’t know how to skate. It made him feel like their time was slipping away, running through his fingers no matter how hard he tried to hold on.

How long could they keep going like this? How long could they keep pretending, before all of it disappeared?


	10. Chapter 10

“I bet you don't need my help anymore," Malfoy said when he slid backwards onto the ice, like always. “I bet you can do it without me." Harry’s heart skipped a beat at that, staring at Malfoy. He was so used to the automatic outstretch of Malfoy’s hands, waiting like he always did to gently pull Harry away.

“No, I don't think so," Harry said, shaking his head. He tried to keep his voice nonchalant, but he wasn’t sure if he pulled it off. “Not yet."

Even in the darkness, he caught the suspicious tilt of Malfoy’s head. Mercifully, he didn’t comment.

“Fine. One hand, then.” He held out his left hand to Harry, who just stared back at him. “Trust me."

Harry did. He walked to the edge and hesitantly reached out to him, feeling oddly lopsided with only one hand. Malfoy threaded their fingers together, pulling him onto the sheet of ice.

 _This_ was the problem. This absolute uncertainty of what Malfoy was thinking, of if there was even the slightest possibility that it was different. It felt different to Harry. It felt like the world had changed.

Malfoy had been right, of course. Harry could skate easily now. He still didn't let go of Malfoy’s hand, and as they went through their well practiced motions, Harry felt like he was quite possibly losing his mind. Was this a normal thing to do with a friend? He wouldn’t do this with Ron, would he?

Snow started falling again at that point, the flakes spiraling softly towards the earth. Finally, they started to make their way back, the ice covered with a fresh blanket of snow. It made their tracks even more visible now, a map of crisscrossing lines showing their long and winding trail.

It was probably Harry’s imagination, as they stepped off the ice, but it felt like Malfoy held onto his hand only slightly longer than would have been normal.

 

* * *

  

It became their new normal now, skating together and holding hands, even though Draco had this sneaking suspicion that Potter was perfectly capable of skating without it. Neither of them brought it up. They just kept skating, having stupid conversations and laughing at the smallest of things, like nothing about this was completely mad.

“Malfoy?” Potter asked one night, when the moon was nothing more than a mere slit in the sky.

“Mmm?” Draco almost laughed at Potter's expression, because it was so typical of him - the half concentrated, half listening look he donned when he wasn’t quite sure what he was saying.

“What would you do, if you could go back and change something?”

 _Oh._  He could see Potter holding his breath, as though he was scared that it had been a mistake to ask, but Draco wasn’t angry. “I don’t know. I’m not brave, you know.” Potter didn’t say anything. Whether it was because he was scared to say the wrong thing, or because he didn’t know how to respond, Draco wasn’t sure.

“What would you want me to change?” he asked curiously, steering Potter carefully around a bump in the ice.

Potter spoke as though he hadn’t thought it through, as if his brain wasn’t entirely connected with his mouth. “If it ends like this, then it doesn’t matter much.”

Draco froze, his head whipping around to look at Potter. “What?”

“Just — well, I meant, I like skating with you,” Potter said sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck with his free hand. Draco didn’t trust himself to respond, but evidently staying quiet had been the wrong thing. Potter looked worried now, and his hand tightened against Draco’s, just enough that it was slightly painful.

“Calm down, Potter. It’s hard to skate when you’re so tense.”

“Sorry,” Harry whispered. His voice sounded too fragile, and it scared Draco.

“Don’t apologize,” Draco said, more sharply than he had intended, but his lungs were suddenly feeling to constricted for him to take it back. The world was too tight around him, pushing in on him from every side as though it was determined to crush him to death.

“Are you okay?” Potter asked, his voice concerned now.

“Yes,” Draco said automatically, his heart beating too fast for all the wrong reasons. This was the kind that tore terror through his chest in the dead of night and made it impossible to breathe.

“No you aren’t,” Potter contradicted. He frowned and gently tugged Draco down so that they were sitting on the ice. Draco barely registered it. He couldn’t see anything, because the world had gone entirely numb and blank, even darker than the darkest of nights, and even though he couldn't see, the world was spinning and spiraling around him.

He tried to breathe, tried to smile and laugh, but it came out all wrong. It was loud and too harsh and even to himself Draco sounded crazy.

“Just try to breathe,” Potter said, but Draco couldn’t even hold onto his voice because everything was _spinning and floating and the world wouldn’t stop._ He felt Potter shift, reaching out to rest his hand on Draco’s arm in something that was most likely supposed to be a comforting gesture. Draco scrambled backwards, limbs flailing, desperate to get away from the contact.

 _“No,”_ he choked out, because all he could see was Potter’s hand, strong and slick with sweat, reaching out for him, and then he was back. He was back in the Room of Requirement, with flames tumbling around him and trying to snatch him out of the sky.

“Okay, Malfoy, just try to concentrate on my voice. I’m not going to come near you, and I’m not going to touch you. Nobody else is here. This is going to pass, okay? Focus on my voice.”

Draco was trying, but it felt like grasping at threads that were being burned away before his eyes, and Potter wasn’t supposed to being seeing this. Nobody was supposed to see him fall apart. He pressed his forehead against the ice, impossibly cold, trying to get rid of the fire burning through his head.

He had no idea how long he sat there, grasping at the ice with trembling fingers, trying to hold on to the sound of Potter’s voice.

He could barely even stand when the immediate terror started to subside, and he wondered how his legs had ever been to support him before when they felt like they would collapse with every step.

“Do you want help walking?” Potter asked quietly.

Draco couldn’t say it out loud, because he wasn’t supposed to admit that he needed help, so he nodded silently. Potter draped Draco’s arm over his shoulders without another word.

They sat down on the side of his lake, and Draco quickly turned their skates back into shoes, looking away from Potter. If Potter noticed that it took him a couple of tries to get the spell right, he didn't say anything. Draco's cheeks were flushed with shame, and he rose as soon as he was confident in his ability to stand, wanting to get away as fast as possible.

“Malfoy, wait.” Draco didn’t want to stop or go back, but something in Potter’s voice held him there momentarily.

“What?” he snapped, hating the tension in his voice, but not knowing what to do about it.

“Did I say something wrong? Is that why you panicked?” Potter was trying to sound offhand, Draco could tell, but he wasn’t succeeding very well.

“Oh, for Merlin’s —” Draco turned around in exasperation, and sat down next to Potter again, rolling his eyes. It made his confidence ebb back slightly. “No, Potter, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh, okay,” Potter said, the relief in his voice evident. “You don’t have to be ashamed, you know.”

“Potter, please just stop talking.”

“Okay,” Potter said, and Draco could hear the smile in his voice.

“Thank you.” Draco said it jokingly, like he was thanking Potter for being quiet, but really it was so much more.

Potter understood, of course. He always did.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry didn’t mention Malfoy’s moment of panic again, because he could tell from Malfoy’s tense stance the next night that it wouldn’t be welcomed.

Instead they kept skating, ignoring the ever-present question of when their time would run out. The moon waned and waxed as they spent the nights out on the ice, skating hand in hand, living in their little bubble of peace.

Harry tugged Malfoy across the ice one night, ignoring Malfoy’s squeal of protest. They resolutely ignored the fact that if Harry was taking control, he was more than capable of skating alone.

“What are you doing, Potter?”

“I’m tired. We’re taking a break,” Harry insisted when they had reached the side of the lake.

Malfoy sat down inelegantly on the edge, his breath knocked out of him in a loud huff that made Harry laugh. Malfoy just stuck his bottom lip out at Harry before pulling him down too, perhaps more forcefully than necessary. They sat there, overlooking the lake, a light dusting of snow mingling with Malfoy’s hair, their skates resting on the ice.

A second later, Harry realized with a jolt that he was still holding onto Malfoy’s hand, their intertwined fingers resting between them on the snow. He was certain that his heart had entirely stopped.

He would have liked to imagine it was a surge of courage that compelled him to leave his hand exactly where it was, while in reality, it was mostly likely his complete inability to do anything.

Malfoy’s skin was impossibly warm. There was a new awareness sinking through Harry's skin, as though the contact was somehow more potent than ever before, each slight twitch and brush sending a shiver through his blood. The unnerving twisting sensation in his stomach woke up then, filling him with a wave of emotions that he couldn’t even begin to handle.

He could feel Malfoy’s eyes on him, searching him more intensely than ever. Against his will, Harry's eyes flitted quickly over to Malfoy. When his eyes locked onto Malfoy, he jerked his head away quickly, blushing fiercely and resisting the urge to rub at the back of his neck or just _run away_.

Then, Harry had a second startling realization. Malfoy wasn't trying to pull away.

Harry didn't dare breathe. He didn't move. He didn't make a sound. He was terrified of breaking this fragile moment between them, the one that seemed a culmination of whispered conversations and flurries of cold. They were both looking in opposite directions, not speaking a word.

And yet, they were still holding hands. It was the simplest thing, but Harry’s entire world had been thrown off balance.

Neither of them made any move to fight it.

Finally, after a minute of heavy silence, Malfoy awkwardly cleared his throat. When Harry finally gathered the nerve and regained control of his neck muscles, he glanced over to find Malfoy looking equally flustered.

“Er —“ Malfoy said, and then broke off like he wasn't sure what he had been planning to say. Harry felt a strange satisfaction at the fact that he was lost for words. Apparently Malfoy's glacial ease wasn’t impenetrable after all.

“I should — I should be getting back,” Malfoy said finally, his voice sounding strangled, and Harry immediately jumped to his feet. His hand slipped gratingly out of Malfoy's.

“Yeah. Yeah, I should — I should do that too.” They walked back in silence, and when they reached the castle, Malfoy looked over at him uncertainly.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, a flood of inexplicable relief flooding through them. “Sounds good.”

Harry barely registered the entire walk to his dormitory, and when he collapsed in bed, his nerves were completely shot. Confused, electrified, and absolutely terrified.

 

* * *

 

The next night, when Harry got to the lake, Malfoy didn’t hold out his hand.

“Try it on your own,” he said, eyes glinting.

“What?” Harry squeaked. He stared back at Malfoy incredulously, and could almost imagine that He felt the pressure of Malfoy's hand from the night before.

“For Salazar’s sake Potter, what are you scared of?”  _The end,_ Harry wanted to scream out, and he was screaming it in his head. _I don’t want this to end._

“I’ll fall!” he said instead, and Malfoy rolled his eyes.

“One would almost think you just wanted to hold my hand.” Was he teasing? Harry couldn't tell.

“Shut up Malfoy,” he muttered to hide his uncertainty, ignoring the flush that was spreading up his neck. It was dark. Malfoy wouldn't see.

With a bravado that he didn't feel in the slightest, he stepped out onto the ice like he had so many times. It was strange not to have the security of Malfoy’s assured grip to keep him from falling. Miraculously, he stayed upright.

“See, I told you!” Malfoy said gleefully, and Harry laughed shakily, holding his arms out to the sides for balance and feeling ridiculous.

It was hard to focus on skating though. His mind seemed determined to take him elsewhere. Was it a coincidence that Malfoy didn’t want to help him any more? Was Malfoy trying to avoid touching him after last night? Maybe Harry was reading the situation entirely wrong before. Maybe there was nothing, and he should just forget about it completely.

But Malfoy interrupted him, clearing his throat in the same awkward way he had done last night, and all of a sudden a strange seed of hope planted itself in Harry’s chest. He tried to push it back, because hope never ended well, but it furrowed deeper into his core.

“Potter?”

“Yeah?” Harry’s voice might have been higher than normal, but he didn't notice, because he was too focused on whatever Malfoy was about to say.

“Would you — I mean, since you can skate now, you know… I mean of course we can still skate at night, if you want, but — do you think… I mean…” Malfoy trailed off, sounding more flustered than Harry had ever thought was possible. How was it that Malfoy could skate across the ice like he wasn't even touching it, but he was getting hung up on a single sentence?

“What?” Harry asked finally, barely able to get the word out of his throat.

“Would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me?”

And then silence. 

Harry could barely even bring himself to ask, but he had to know, he _had_ to know what Malfoy meant.

“Malfoy,” he said slowly, unable to look away. “Are you — are you asking me out?” Malfoy’s whole body seemed to freeze entirely under Harry’s intense gaze, and his mouth seemed to lock as he stood frozen, like he was just part of the landscape. Like he was sculpted out of ice.

When at last he spoke, the words came out in a strangled whisper that mirrored exactly the state of Harry’s mind.

“I’m not sure,” he whispered, his voice sounding impossibly fragile, as though it might shatter in the air. Harry almost protested and insisted that Malfoy _had_ to know, because how could he leave Harry standing there with a million questions shredding his mind. But then he understood that it didn’t matter. 

It didn't matter, because he would go to Hogsmeade with Malfoy whatever the reason. It didn't matter, because Malfoy had asked him, and maybe he wasn't entirely ready to decide what that meant, and maybe that was okay.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed shakily, “Okay. I’ll go to Hogsmeade with you.”

“Okay,” Malfoy said. There was a new kind of shy smile on his face now, and it made Harry's mind unravel, a tentative blossoming curl opening in his chest.

“On one condition,” Harry added quickly, an idea popping into his head.

“I’m starting to think I have a bad influence on you,” Malfoy said, only half joking. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s the condition?”

“I think I still need help skating,” Harry grinned, holding out his hand to Malfoy, a question in his eyes.

“You’re such a bloody embarrassment,” Malfoy grumbled, barely holding back an eye roll, but then he reached out and grabbed Harry's hand.

In that moment, the world seemed to right itself.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr at loganaa-fic.tumblr.com
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated :) Also I would love concrit because I really want to improve, so don't be afraid to tell me what I can work on!


End file.
